


The Kingsman's Speech

by IsolatedThinker (thejabberwocki)



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Amnesia, Gen, Well - Freeform, i'd call it fix-it but it's not, i'm trash i'm sorry, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 01:46:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3510581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejabberwocki/pseuds/IsolatedThinker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Hart survived the end of the world - at least, physically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kingsman's Speech

Plastic ties bit into his wrists, chafing uncomfortably under the edge of his watch and he sighed, shutting his eyes against the pounding behind them. He couldn’t even remember his own name and address, let alone who he’d been with, and he felt like he’d been shot in the head – what on  _earth_  had he been drinking?

His tongue felt fuzzy, and there was a distinct metallic taste in the back of his throat that he couldn’t put a name to, despite the familiarity he felt with it. Whiskey didn’t taste coppery, did it? Or was that tequila?

”- _told_  you, I’m with the government, special access.  _No_ , I can’t tell you who he is, you understand how th-” a distant babble outside the door grew louder and he groaned as the door creaked open on unoiled hinges.

"Galahad?"

A disbelieving voice cut across the dank cell and he raised his head, squinting against the brightness and trying to make sense of the sounds assaulting his brain.

“ _Harry!_ ”

A bald, angry-looking, glasses-wearing scot strode into his field of vision and he shrank down into his uncomfortable steel chair as much as possible, flinching as he spoke. He tried to mumble a pathetic defence, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Harry, you  _bastard_ , we thought you were dead…” The scot freed his wrists with a visceral  _snick_  and moved in front of him, touching his jaw and tilting his head painfully to one side. “It barely even grazed you, you lucky… Harry?” His playful tone trailed off and instead acquired a note of alarm, worry filtering into his voice as repeated the name.

“Harry, look at me.”

Silence extended between the two of them, the scot trying to catch his eyes. One of the officers he’d entered with coughed awkwardly and the battered man in the chair slowly raised his eyes, his brows creased.

“W-who…?”

**Author's Note:**

> This is a WIP and will be finished - I've got most of it sitting on my computer as I post this. That being said, it's turned into something of a monster and I needed to post *something* to keep myself buoyed up about it.


End file.
